Coming Home
by AngelWildWings181
Summary: "So when they dream together once more, he ignores all of the threats and the fallout, and grabs her, capturing her lips with his. And for a moment, they stop pretending." Just another Ariadne and Arthur fluff fic.


The day is calm. The light breeze plays with the long grass, stirring it in lazy patterns as the sun's rays touch their blades. The scene is peaceful, yet there's an air of loneliness about. A solitary bench sits in the middle of the ocean of dancing plants. Alone sits a man as a solitary figure approaches.

"Are you alright?" she asks. Her lips ghost over the words, forming them just enough to be heard. He keeps his eyes closed tightly, memorizing this feeling; the caress of her hand on his arm, the whispering of locks of chocolate-brown hair that lazily brush him, blown by the wind, the silkiness of her voice, the warm sun beating down on his face…

She repeats her question, slightly louder now, and he forces himself to think again. The truth is that he's not alright. She has made sure of that. All he can think about is her; he feels the need to bring her name up in random conversations, whenever she's around his skin prickles like his very being knows of her presence, and he sometimes finds himself just staring at her. He loves her knowing brown eyes, her curious mind, her secret generosity, her quirky clothes and personality, her chocolate ringlets, her voice, her imagination, and everything about her. With her, things don't have structured schedules, clear rules, and a clear path. And he loves it, but hates it.

He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes and prepares himself to answer her. Opening his eyes, he looks at her. And he lies. "Fine… I'm just a bit tired; I didn't get much sleep last night." It's halfway true at least.

She doesn't fully seem to believe him, but she chooses not to push it. She drops her hand from his arm, ghosting her fingertips just barely over his skin as she pulls away. He shudders at her touch, gritting his teeth bitterly to keep the onslaught of reactions at bay. It doesn't work.

"That's a shame." And she smiles even as her heart is breaking. And they begin to pretend. After all, they've always been good at wearing Masks.

The next time they meet, they find themselves on the brink of devastation. They stand side by side, facing the outward horizon of the sprawling city before them. They are high above the ground, perched on the ledge of the highest building in the city.

She feels the toes of her shoes gripping the crumbling ledge, her eyes closed, and he watches her silently. She breathes in deeply, finally opening her eyes. Their gazes meet; brown igniting brown.

"What do you dream of?" She asks him quietly. He breaks his gaze from hers, sweeping it over the slowly disintegrating city. In the time it takes him to answer, two weak buildings have perished into dust and fallen bricks, tumbling towards the desolate ground.

"I haven't been able to for a long time," he finally says. Unspoken words pass between them as her hand reaches out, squeezing his softly. Before he can even catch hold of her hand in return, it's gone, like it was never even there.

"What if you could?" She asks instead. He smiles grimly. He resists the powerful urge to reach for her and whisper in her ear: "_I would dream of you_," and answers.

"I would dream of safety; of a home." That used to be so, but ever since he's known her, his hopes for his dreams have changed. She sighs, and smiles tiredly.

"I would dream of that too." And she's not lying, because to her, he's her home.

And they jump from the ledge into the city as a storm rages behind them.

Their dreams cross next on a grassy hill. They ignore all of the unsaid words and obvious tension, and settle down together on a blanket spread out just for them. They sip wine as red as blood and bask in the moon's light, talking of nothing and everything.

And they pretend. He pretends that his fingers don't itch to hold her; she pretends that she doesn't want to smother him with kisses. He pretends that her red dress doesn't affect his battered hormones, and she pretends that his suit isn't making her think of happy forevers and safety in his arms.

They ignore their love, their urges, and their feelings and continue to be blissfully ignorant.

"Where do you feel most at home?" She asks after easy conversation. She looks at him steadily, and ignores the implications of what she's asking. The air vibrates with intensity, and things sober. He looks back at her.

"Right here." And it's the most sincere thing he's said in a long time. Even that small statement is too much. They know that this is impractical, that if Cobb knew the odd arrangement that they have would go up in flames. For a moment, neither of them cares.

They're so close too; their lips inches apart, their fingers brushing together, but they know what they're risking… So he leans back, pretending that he doesn't notice the disappointed way in which her shoulders slump, the despair that takes over her face. And so she pretends in return that she doesn't see the hope dying in his eyes.

After all, they're both phenomenal at pretending.

He can't keep himself together. Dreams are becoming his reality, and he knows that he must do something or lose her for good and become like Mal; a shell of his former self.

So when they dream together once more, he ignores all of the threats and the fallout, and grabs her, capturing her lips with his. And for a moment, they stop pretending.

They spend the dream together, kissing and holding each other, sipping yet more wine. They lay on a glittering canvas of stars, more spreading about them, and building the walls of the little world; consumed in each other. They both know that they've crossed a line; and they couldn't care less.

They meet once again, but this time it's different. They now know exactly what they've been missing, and don't intend to let more opportunities pass them by. So they meet in Reality, without the protection of somnacin-induced dreams.

The beginning of their first date is disastrous. They go picnicking on a small rowing boat on the Seine, but it flips, leaving them soaking wet with no dinner. She tells him teasingly that he should have left the damn pigeon alone, for his standing up and swatting had caused the whole thing. He only pretends to glare at her.

They begin the trek back to apartment just as it begins to rain. She laughs as he curses quietly. They take refuge under a tree for a while, but when the storm shows no sign of letting up, they make their way out again.

She decides on a little spontaneity, and tells him that she just wants to be a cliché couple for once. He raises his eyebrow, but allows her pull him along, singing and dancing… _in the rain._ He completes the cliché by kissing her softly as the sky rains down around them.

By the time they make it back to her cozy apartment, it is 11:00 pm, and they both look like half-drowned cats. And they don't care.

He cooks dinner as she picks out a movie to watch. Later, the empty plates sit on the coffee table, and the end credits are rolling as they escape into her small bedroom.

And they feel as if they're finally home.


End file.
